Crusade of Angels
by GreyWolfKnight
Summary: In the 42nd Millennium, Primaris Marine Blaine joins the Inner Circle of the Dark Angels Chapter. His trial by fire is the hunting of the Fallen Angel known only as Archleone. Caught between the burning worlds of the Imperium Nihilus and the dark secrets of the Circle, will newly promoted Captain Blaine be able to strike a balance between service to Imperium and Inner Circle.


_Crusade of Angels_

By Alexander Raines (Grey Wolf Knight)

**Chapter 1: Son of the Lion**

It was called the Rock. It was an ignoble nickname for the home of a chapter of the Emperor's space marines, let alone one of the original twenty legions. Officially it was known as the _Angelicasta_, the Tower of Angels, but the Rock was the name that most knew it by. It was over a hundred kilometers of rock and adamantium plating, and it was the last remaining token of the Dark Angels' ancient homeworld of Caliban.

Almost as old as the Imperium of Man itself, the Rock held many secrets. This was not atypical for a space marine chapter as old and as storied as the Dark Angels. Every chapter had its secret lore that it kept close to its chest, safely away from the prying eyes of the Inquisition or the Archenemy. However few secrets were as dangerous as the ones held inside the Rock. Held inside the stony heart of the Dark Angels' fortress-monastery were the kind of secrets that could unmake empires that seemed eternal and destroy the faith of most pious.

Or at least, that was what they had told him.

Sergeant Blaine stood in martial splendor outside of the Causeway of Ascension. Bedecked in his Mark X Tacticus Power Armour yet lacking his weapons, the Primaris Space Marine awaited the signal for his entrance. So he stood near the massive stone doors, brooding within himself as he mentally chewed at the information he had been given less than forty-eight hours ago.

"We are ready for you, Sergeant," a voice spoke to him through his ear piece. Nodding, if only to himself, Sergeant Blaine entered the Causeway.

The Causeway of Ascension was a massive chamber. It was tall enough to house a Warhound Scout Titan with room to spare and wide enough for two of the machines to walk abreast. Hanging from the high ceiling were the many war banners, campaign markers, and company heraldries of the Dark Angels and its most famous members. Angelic cyber-cherubs and servo-skulls flitted about playing sacred hymnals and spreading incense around the chamber, as well as recording the event for posterity. On the walls of the Causeway were stained glass murals depicting the official history of the Dark Angels.

_The official history_, Blaine reflected bitterly. Not the true history. It was a lie, like this ceremony. All this pomp and splendor was a ruse. A fantasy concocted to make the men feel false pride in their chapter while their leaders shouldered the real burdens.

One hundred space marines, both Primaris and Firstborn, stood in demi-companies of fifty on either side of Blaine's path. They were arranged by squad, with the Tactical Marines taking the front ranks. Behind them were the Assault Marines and at the back were the Devastator Marines. Standing at the fore of each squad was their sergeant, usually one of the Firstborn, and at the head of each demi-company was their Primaris Lieutenant. About a quarter of the gathered space marines were Primaris, and yet there were no Primaris formations. No Intercessors, Inceptors, Hellblasters, Reivers, Aggressors, Incursors, or Vanguards. The only signs of the new chapter organization that Roboute Guilliman had introduced was the Primaris Lieutenants.

When Sergeant Blaine, then a mere battle brother, had joined the Dark Angels with the rest of his Primaris brothers he had thought them foolish for not accepting the Primarch's new organization regime and refusing to go through the conversion to become Primaris, as the Ultramarines had done when their primarch has returned. However he had kept such council to himself, even when he thought he was alone. Perhaps it was that discretion that had lead him to this place.

As he marched down the Causeway of Ascension he felt washed in both suspicion and pride from the eyes of the men around him as they watched them approach the raised stone stage on the far side of the chamber. The pride came from the Primaris Marines, no doubt glad to finally have one of their own in a position of great rank and authority. They'd had sergeants and lieutenants sure, but until now all of the company captains had been of the Firstborn. This was a momentous day in the history of the chapter, and despite that Blaine felt bitterness inside him. He wondered if these men would be so proud if they'd seen him the day before yesterday, naked and chained in one of the hidden chambers of the Rock while the Master of the Librarians psychically interrogated him.

Eventually he reached the raised stage and ascended the steps. At the top stood Supreme Grand Master Azrael and the other masters of the chapter, along with a few guests from the Dark Angels' successor chapters. Blaine wondered what thoughts he should be thinking right now. Officially he had received this summons on short notice, and so he assumed he should be properly humble and surprised before such a gathering of mighty individuals. Instead he felt a little annoyed at having to put on a show before these men who he would command. Another lie to add to the pile.

Blaine took a knee before Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels and bowed his head.

"Summoned," he said, his voice amplified by vox speakers to carry throughout the Causeway of Ascension, "I stand before the Council of Masters."

"Stand, and be welcomed, Brother Sergeant," Azrael said. He had a strong voice that befitted his standing as commander of a chapter of space marines. It carried authority and commanded respect, but did not boom or bluster. "Do you know why you have been summoned here?"

"No, my lord," Blaine lied as he rose to stand at attention, as was his role.

"You have been brought before this Council to be considered for ascension into our ranks," Azrael told him. "Through valor and mighty deed, you have upheld the honor of the chapter and proven your ability to lead men into war. Thus your first test has been passed. Will you stand to the second?"

"Yes, my lord," Blaine said.

"Then open your mind to Master Ezekiel, and be judged."

One of the space marines on the stage, clad in blue armor with only his pauldrons the traditional green of the Dark Angels, approached Blaine. Blaine looked up into the gleaming red cybernetic eye that escaped the dark cowl of Master Librarian Ezekiel's hood. Ezekiel extended his hand, palm outstretched, to Blaine. Immediately Blaine felt the psychic intrusion of Master Ezekiel and fought down the urge to panic and fight. He opened his mind for the second time to the Librarian, allowing Ezekiel to scan his surface thoughts. If there was any discomfort it was a pittance of suffering compared to the agony that had been his day-long hell that had been his previous encounter with Ezekiel's psychic power.

"This man's mind is as pure as clean water," Ezekiel declared for the benefit of the assembled company. "He is loyal to his Emperor and his chapter. He would rather die than dishonor his brothers."

"Is that true, Brother Sergeant?" Azrael asked Blaine.

"It is, my lord," Blaine said. "To serve the Emperor is the highest honor a man can achieve. To die for Him is a close second."

"Well spoken, brother," Azrael nodded. "Now your final test has come, and it will end the day you die. Will you consent to join the Council of Masters as Master of the Feared 4th Company?"

"I do," Blaine said with as much conviction as he could muster, which was vast enough to swallow oceans. There was no need to put on a show for his willingness to join the Inner Council and serve his brothers, both Primaris and Firstborn.

"Then take a knee," Azrael said. As Blaine did so Azrael drew his sword, the Heavenfall Blade known as the Sword of Secrets, and took it in both hands. He placed the flat tip of the blade on Blaine's left shoulder, then his right. As he did so he said, "By my authority as Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels, I, Azrael, raise you, Blaine, to the rank of Captain to serve as master of the 4th Battle Company. Stand, Captain Blaine."

Blaine stood. Azrael sheathed his sword and walked to Blaine's left side. Blaine turned to face the assembled 4th Company. Azrael gripped his left hand and raised it high. As he did so Blaine turned his hand into a fist.

"Brothers of the 4th Company!" Azrael addressed the gathered men. "I present to you, your new captain! Hail, Captain Blaine!"

"Hail!" the one hundred transhuman super soldiers chorused, raising their left fists into the air.. "Hail! Hail!"

Blaine, despite himself, felt a rush of pride at the auditory assault. Azrael looked at him and said, "Address your men, Captain."

Blaine nodded. He'd had a day to prepare, and knew which words he wished to share with them. He said in his best command voice, "Men of the Feared 4th Company, I am Blaine. I am honored to be your captain. When I was a mere battle brother in the The Unnumbered Sons, I learned of the great deeds of the Dark Angels and their role in protecting the Imperium. To become one of you was my greatest and most treasured joy. Today, that place has been supplanted by becoming your Captain. Today I do swear, by the Lion and the Emperor, that I will see to it that the 4th Company will be known as The Feared by all enemies of the Imperium!"

Blaine raised his fist again. "For the Lion! For the Emperor! For all of mankind!"

The assembled 4th Company cheered and clapped for him, and a smile broke across his lips. Azrael planted a hand on Blaine's armored shoulder, raising his other for silence.

"As I have you all here," Azrael said. "I find it prudent to tell you all of your next campaign. In the Imperium Nihilus, there is a rogue astartes warband ravaging the still free worlds of the Imperium. Their leader is known as Archleone, and he leads a mocking crusade of pirates and brigands that dishonors the Emperor and every space marine in existence by their mere presence. You will go forth, find these traitors, and put them to the blade."

"We will not fail you, Supreme Grand Master," Blaine said.

Azrael revealed nothing behind his face, but Blaine saw the hidden response in his master's eyes.

_See that you do not._

Not too much later, Blaine was alone in his small personal chamber. He stood over a package laid out on his flat stone bed. It was a wooden box covered in purity seals and wrapped in prayer paper. The construction was simple but elegant, and Blaine was careful in its unwrapping and opening. Inside the box was a bed of straw on which lay a sword. It was a Mk II Mars Pattern Power Sword, which meant it was a few centimeters longer than a standard power sword and its tip was partially flared. Its pommel was fashioned in the shape of a shield with the iconography of the 4th Company emblazoned on it.

Blaine picked up the sword and drew it from its scabbard, gently placing the latter on his stone and taking the sword into a two handed grip. While it was not one of the legendary Heavenfall Blades, it was still a piece of masterful craftsmanship. In Blaine's strong hands, strong even by the high standards of the Primaris Marines, the sword seemed to weigh nothing at all. Blaine didn't need to test it to know it was molecularly sharpened to a cutting edge even the straightest razor would have trouble matching.

He tested it with a swing. The sword whistled through the recycled air of the Rock as he sent it through a series of motions and attacking exercises, and Blaine smiled. This was a good sword. A knight's sword. For a moment, Blaine actively looked forward to his next battle.

"Like your new toy?" a sardonic voice asked. Blaine startled as he realized that someone had entered his chamber without announcement or permission. He was prepared to deliver a verbal thrashing worthy of the best scout sergeants as he spun around, and found it was not an interloper at all.

"Roderick," Blaine said with a nod.

Primaris Lieutenant Roderick nodded back. He was leaning against the metal door frame that seperated Blaine's chamber from that of the wing that house the 4th Company, dressed in his bone white robes with his cowl off his head. His hands were hidden in his robes, which hid something else despite his best attempts to obfuscate the fact.

"It's a good sword," Blaine said as he put the sword back in its scabbard and placed them both back into the wooden box. "Is there anything I can do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Well," Roderick said, standing up and as he did so producing a bottle and two glasses from the folds of his robes. "I was hoping my captain would be willing to share some wine with me as we celebrate his rise to rank and privilege."

Blaine smiled.

The two Primaris Marines cross legged sat on the floor and were soon laughing and singing as the bottle was emptied. Space marines could not get drunk on wine. Their gene-augmented bodies were too capable at processing and blocking out toxins. This granted them great durability and strength when it came to surviving the battlefield, but meant that they could not engage in one of the oldest traditions of the species they fought for. Still, it loosened their tongues in other ways as the two men let down their defenses and enjoyed each other's company.

"Throne," Roderick said. "Can you imagine our brothers seeing us now? See you now?"

Blaine shook his head. It had been almost one hundred years since they'd been broken off from the Greyshields to join the Dark Angels. They'd only had a few campaigns as part of the Unnumbered Sons before Guilliman's Indomitus Crusade had found the Dark Angels and their successor chapters, so they hadn't had a lot of time to develop the kind of brotherhood that the Greyshields had shared by the end of the Avenging Son's Crusade. However they had made friends with their squadmates at the time, and missed them on occasion.

"I'm nothing special," Blaine said. "It was only natural that one day a Primaris Marine would be raised to the Council of Masters."

"I bet that must have generated a lot of controversy within the Firstborn," Roderick said, clearly relishing the idea. Blaine could not fault him for it. He had heard stories of other members of the Primaris Marines having less than smooth relationships with the Firstborn, and the Firstborn themselves had hardly been welcoming to their new brothers. However such thoughts had no place in the minds of officers and commanders of the chapter, whether sergeant, lieutenant, or captain.

"Less than you might think," Blaine said. "The Council of Masters know that we are the future. Standing in the way of progress over matter of pride and pedigree is something that the Supreme Grand Master is interested in entertaining."

Roderick grunted and sipped his wine. The vintage was Ultramarian in origin. A gift from Guilliman to Azrael upon their meeting, which Azrael had distributed to his companies for his officers to enjoy. They were probably drinking the last of it, and it was quite bitter and vinegary, but it was cherished and savored by Blaine. It was for tradition that he drank, and to put his brother at ease.

"So," Roderick eventually said, "what can you tell me about the traitors we're hunting?"

_A better question would be what can't I tell you_, Blaine thought, his demeanor becoming almost as bitter as the wine. He suddenly realized he was letting his mask slip and recovered, saying, "They're traitors to the Imperium and need to be put down like the rabid curs that they are."

"Yes that's the official line, but what can you tell me?"

Blaine shrugged. "They are said to have belonged to a chapter of loyal marines whose brotherhood was sundered during the Noctis Aeterna. Supposedly only this war band has survived, and they sully the memory of their loyal brothers."

"You almost sound like one of the Firstborn, the way you talk about the traitors," Roderick pointed out.

Blaine drank the last of his wine, then said as he refilled it, "I still remember the Imperium of old, from seven thousand years ago, when things were peaceful and the traitors were supposed to be slain or mere children's nightmares. Not like this era of eternal war and strife."

Roderick nodded, accepting the explanation. He said, "It is a dark age indeed, but we are the light that brightens the stars and worlds of the Imperium."

"Well said, Rod!" Blaine said, saluting his lieutenant with his now full glass. They touched cups and drank again.

"So when do we leave?" Roderick asked as he poured the last of the wine into his glass.

"In a few days," Blain replied. "We're still waiting on some last intelligence to arrive before we move out. Plus the _Sordóir Dubh_ is still being supplied."

Roderick growled in faux frustration, then said with a smile, "I could never wrap my head around the logistics of warfare. I should have been born a Space Wolf!"

"I'll see if I can put in a good word with the Supreme Grand Master. See if he can't arrange a transfer."

Roderick laughed a deep belly laugh that made Blaine smile, and envy his friend's relatively simple view of things.

The _Sordóir Dubh_, the name an old Caliban-variant of Low Gothic for Black Swordsman, was an Crusader-class Strike Cruiser. The Crusader-class was a venerable family of warships that bordered the limits of what kind of spacecraft the Adeptus Astartes were allowed to field, as in addition to being a troop transport for a battle company of space marines it was also moderately more armed than the average strike cruiser. The High Admiralty of the Imperial Navy had raised more than a minor fuss when the first Crusader strike cruiser had been laid down, but had ultimately not stopped the construction of vessels. The _Sordóir Dubh_ was the thirteenth such vessel to be built, its keel being laid down some five thousand years ago, and had a storied history to it of blockades run, battles fought, and terrible damage being wrought on the warcraft yet somehow managing to survive onward to the 42nd Millenium.

Blaine was glad to have her as his flagship. He had served aboard her when she had been attached to the 3rd Battle Company, which Blaine had been a part of as Sergeant of the 1st Tactical Squad. He had spilt the blood of drukhari pirates on her bulkheads when she had been boarded during one of the company's campaigns into the Imperium Nihilus. He had ridden boarding torpedoes fired from her prow. He had stood in her chapel-barracks and received sacrament from the interrogator-chaplains upon his rise to Sergeant. In a way, boarding the _Sordóir Dubh_ was like coming home again.

Blaine entered the command deck of the strike cruiser and approached the dias upon which the captain's throne sat. Seated in it was an old crone of a woman whose steel grey hair was intermixed with cable wiring that connected her to her ship. The crone turned to face Blaine and nodded deeply.

"Welcome aboard, Sergeant," Rear Admiral Morganna Lafayette greeted him. "Or should I say, _Captain_. Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thank you, Rear Admiral," Captain Blaine replied, returning her nod. "It pleases me to see that you are still as radiantly beautiful as when I last saw you, which was, what, thirty-seven years ago?"

"Only thirty-six," Morganna replied, smiling at the space marine. "Have you come to tell me where our prey hides?"

"Indeed I have, Rear Admiral," Blaine said. "I just heard it from the lips of the Master Astropath himself. Our quarry was last seen in the Gipuzkoa Sector in the Segmentum Obscurus."

Morganna bared her teeth in a wolfish smile. "Then we have a heading. How much longer will it be until your company is aboard and ready for the voyage, and what can you tell me of our foe?"

"Within the next hour, Rear Admiral," Blaine said. He had known some officers, mostly mortals, who placed great emphasis on due respect and proper conduct when a subordinate spoke to a superior. Blaine was not one of them. He knew he was in charge, and so did the Rear Admiral, and as such felt no need to strut his authority in needless displays. "As of our enemy, we know that they have at least one squads worth of renegade astartes and several battalions worth of irregular light infantry."

"I was hoping for information on their voidcraft," Rear Admiral Lafayette chided him, still smiling.

"My sincere apologies," Blaine said. "I can confirm that they have at least one proper warship in their fleet, most likely a light cruiser or strike cruiser. The rest are armed merchantmen and maybe a salvaged destroyer or frigate."

Rear Admiral Lafayette nodded, saying, "We will probably need extra escort ships if we're not going to invite the Navy to the hunt."

"I agree," Blaine replied. "Which is why I asked the Master of the Fleet to release an extra squadron of Rapid Strike Vessels to our battle group. He acquiesced."

Lafayette smiled. "You certainly know how to work your way to a lady's heart, Captain Blaine."

Blaine was as good as his promise. Within the next hour the 4th Company had embarked on the strike cruiser and were secure in her chapel-barracks, along with a few extra passengers that nobody except Blaine expected.

With the cargo of transhuman warriors loaded and their provisions secured, the _Sordóir Dubh _and her escorts slipped their moorings and left the Rock behind. As soon as they were clear of the mass shadow of the massive mobile fortress-monastery the strike cruiser ignited her warp drive and plunged into the empyreal realm.


End file.
